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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24402505">The Puzzling Persistence of Treadmill Guy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/purified_mangoes/pseuds/purified_mangoes'>purified_mangoes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Author is leaning heavily on her days running cross country, Author loves Dateline NBC, Based On Buzzfeed Unsolved, Buzzfeed Unsolved References, Confused sexuality, Entirely fictional, F/M, Gen, Is that a tag? No? I'm making it one, Keith Morrison is lowkey a character in this, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Meet-Cute, Minor Original Character(s), Musician Shane Madej, Oblivious Ryan Bergara, Ryan Bergara Being an Idiot, Ryan Bergara Loves Shane Madej, Ryan Bergara is a capital a Athlete, Ryan-centric, Sexuality Crisis, Shane Being an Asshole, Shane Madej Loves Ryan Bergara, Wheeze (Buzzfeed Unsolved), does not represent the real people in anyway, i've decided to do that because i too love car seat headrest, midwest gang rise up, no paranormal, shyan, written with the most respect</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:00:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,380</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24402505</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/purified_mangoes/pseuds/purified_mangoes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan doesn't consider himself a competitive guy. </p><p>Not until some asshole tries to one up him on the treadmill.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ryan Bergara &amp; Shane Madej, Ryan Bergara/Original Female Character(s), Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>82</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This work is ENTIRELY FICTIONAL. If you are, for some reason, here viewing this and are a person depicted in this fic, please click out. This work, while is a shipping fic, does not intend to disrespect the real lives of any person mentioned within. It is merely inspired by the chemistry of Shane and Ryan, and their entertaining dynamic. All respect to them and their actual significant others. </p><p>That being said, please enjoy! I hope everyone is safe and doing well mentally/physically during quarantine. I've leaned on Buzzfeed Unsolved, Watcher, and Ryan and Shane fics for comfort a lot recently. I figured I might as well contribute to the fandom myself :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ryan never considered himself to be an overly competitive guy. Honestly, he didn’t. Sure, he acknowledged that sometimes he could be slightly overzealous when it came to the things he found interesting. Maybe he cheered just a little obnoxiously for the Lakers, or stopped too often on the street to pet a dog, or stayed up too late watching paranormal videos on his phone. But, to him, none of that equated to poor showmanship or antagonism. He accepted that sometimes others succeeded where he failed, and that was alright.</p><p>But for once, in this particular scenario, it wasn’t alright.</p><p>As soon as Ryan had stepped onto campus, he gravitated towards the extensive - and frankly, excessive - student fitness center. For the couple months he’d endured of college life, the gym had become something of a haven for him. Using its various amenities, he’d managed to evade the “freshman fifteen,” keep himself sane, and grow his confidence despite the nerve wracking expectations that came with the first semester at university. It fit perfectly into his routine, and he mainly kept to himself once inside the facility, electing to tune the world out and sweat it out to the quirky narration of Keith Morrison on NBC’s Dateline. That is, he did, until this guy. This fucking guy. The goddamn treadmill guy.</p><p>Ryan noticed him initially when the dude violated Hund’s Rule, the Bus-seat Rule, common sense etiquette. He’d been running interval training on the treadmill, pleased with the nearly vacant row he found himself in. No one beside him for several treadmills, it was a rarity and a luxury. It set the perfect mood for him to push his limits, no one around to disrupt his focus.</p><p>But then, this guy had to step onto the treadmill directly to his left. There were about five vacant lanes to choose from, with plenty of gaps next to people. The man didn’t <em>have</em> to be next to anyone, but he stepped up next to Ryan regardless.</p><p>Finishing his fast interval, Ryan quickly pressed the lower-speed button repeatedly, jamming his finger haphazardly until he’d slowed down to a cool 4 mph. He spared the guy a quick glance, and took an unsubtle double take.</p><p>He was really attractive, and really really tall. Ryan just barely caught sight of the bandanna the guy had pushing back his brown, medium toned hair before he tripped, catching himself on the railings each treadmill had on either side of the belt. He gasped, immediately feeling a flush creep over his cheeks, already red from the sprinting. He heard a soft chuckle through his earbuds, and shot a look to his left. The guy remained handsome, and ignored Ryan as he began raising the speed on his own screen. Ryan gaped openly when he saw the number the guy stopped at: 4.1 mph.</p><p>Feeling a bit riled up, Ryan turned back to his own screen, trying to focus on the episode playing in his ear. Keith was guiding him through the disappearance of a suburban mother, right. Possibly dead, estranged cousin a suspect, got it.</p><p>He tried to shrug off the number, he really did. Maybe the guy chose it as a coincidence, perhaps 4.1 was his lucky stride to start off with. But Ryan doubted the man next to him, assuming he had any experience with running or fitness, would remain at 4.1 for long, not with those legs.</p><p>Soon enough, Ryan heard his watch beep, urging him to up the speed again for the next interval. He used the keypad to type in 6.5 mph, expecting to keep the pace for a minute and a half. It felt good, his lungs burned almost immediately. He reveled in the way he barely heard Dateline over the blood rushing past his ears and the  belt making such an exhausted noise. What he did manage to hear though, startled him again.</p><p>The guy next to him starting running at the same pace, his treadmill suddenly just as loud and labored as Ryan’s. Ryan could not believe it.</p><p><em>What is this fucking guy’s deal?</em> Ryan set his jaw and when his watch alerted him to the end of the interval, he shut it off. Feeling like he had a safe, consistent stride, Ryan chanced looking over to the guy’s screen. Fucking 6.6 mph.</p><p>Just testing a theory, Ryan upped his speed, 6.7 mph. His lungs constricted, and he focused on finding a good rhythm. Something about the competition exhilarated him, made it easier for him to control his breath and find his pace. As confused as he was about the guy next to him, he felt confident, ready to pace this guy out, beat him at his own game. He grinned openly when his newly earned rival set his pace to 6.8, and he wasted no time clicking his own. He laughed in between breaths at the 6.9 mph displayed on the monitor, but his laughter cut off when the man instantly upped to 7.</p><p>Ryan hadn’t run this hard in a long time, not since he felt emboldened in his sophomore year of high school in gym and needed to assert himself among the other guys in his class. But, this felt different. As much as Ryan found himself technically challenged by the guy next to him, this offered significant more entertainment. He shot another look and caught the eye of his neighbor. He had soft brown eyes, and he too grinned widely.</p><p>Flushed, Ryan smiled in between pants. He shook his head, laughing at the way his opponent’s ridiculously long limbs flailed slightly beside him. He carried no tension in his form as he ran, his large stride easily keeping up with the rapid spin of the belt. His arms, bent at the elbow like expected, still jostled out to the side. An image of a car wash inflatable tube man appeared in Ryan’s head and a slight wheeze escaped his lips.</p><p>They kept pace with each other for several minutes, Ryan not daring to increase. As in shape as he was, he struggled to maintain the pace. He felt his throat dry gradually as the distance passed, a tracker ticking up helpfully on his screen. He noted the calories doing the same, far surpassing any amount he’d ever reached before on a treadmill. Just as he neared his breaking point, when he was going to concede, the guy next to him relented. Ryan nearly cried out in triumph, quickly smashing the button up to 7.1 mph. He continued for maybe ten more seconds, just enough for the guy to view the winning number. He pressed the convenient cool down button and let it guide him to an easier pace.</p><p>He gulped air, trying not to sound obnoxious or disrupt the other gym patrons. As he adjusted to an easy jog, Ryan noted the guy next to him just as winded. He tried to subtly check him out, observing his state. He evidently had been just as affected, a dusting of pink spread over his cheeks, just above a fair amount of stubble. The hair looked on the verge of a beard, matching well with the rest of the guy’s face. He had his eyes closed, and his brows scrunched up as he concentrated on his breathing. Ryan allowed himself to note the man’s brown hair, even more ruffled than before the run, held back by a pretty baby blue bandanna.</p><p>He quickly looked back to his screen when the guy opened his eyes. He hadn’t been looking long, but still, he shied away from looking again. Focusing on the episode playing in his ear, he noted the guilty verdict. He didn’t know who the hell had been convicted or how the investigators had reached the suspect, but oh well. He’d just replay it at his next study session.</p><p>Instead, he paid attention as the next episode’s intro began. <em>“Five to seven minutes: the time it takes a cigarette to burn,”</em> Keith Morrison informed him.</p><p>Not much time passed before the man finished off his cool down, wiped down the treadmill, and moved on. Ryan forced himself to stare forward as he did, finishing up himself only a minute later. Suddenly exhausted, lacking that adrenaline from earlier, he moved towards the dumbbells for an ending to his workout. Part of him yearned to skip this part, his brain advocating an end to the night since he’d spent longer on the treadmill than usual.</p><p><em>“The phone was off the hook, looked like it had been moved from its normal place. Blood was smeared on several walls both upstairs and downstairs…”</em> He resolved his internal debate, compromising with only a few minutes of weight lifting, the episode relaying gruesome details all the while.</p><p>Reaching the weights, he glanced up towards the office and spotted him. He had a jacket thrown on, his running shoes in his hands and a duffel bag around his shoulder. He caught Ryan’s eyes as he headed towards the exit. Ryan swallowed thickly, unsure if he should wave or acknowledge the guy or look away or what. He felt his brain completely short circuit when the fucker winked.</p><p><em>“Shocking? Yes, of course…”</em>  Keith drawled.</p><p>Ryan pulled his earbuds out and sighed. It was time to go home.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ryan has a busy day</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey y'all, I swear I thought this chapter was much longer than it ended up being. I'm working on the next one currently. Thank you all for your comments! They make me smile a lot, I appreciate them. I usually respond once I have more content to peddle, so here you guys go!</p><p>Enjoy :) I hope you all are staying safe and healthy out there. Things are getting (justifiably) crazy. I won't get too political on here, since I think fanfic is supposed to be an escape, but I support and love you all. You all are so worthy of respect and care, please stay safe.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Something to know about Ryan Bergara: he appreciated a good mystery. He enjoyed a good story in general, but something about the thrill of a case, something with an unknown end and a confusing middle, remained unrivaled. </p><p> </p><p>Part of his detective brain believed it stemmed from his childhood, his hypothesis being that something so ingrained in one’s personality must have originated when one developed. He wasn’t quite sure what had caused the spark, but he knew the burning need to solve and fix problems had been with him his whole life. His strongest, and only, theory credited his interest in mysteries to his mother. She’d always fucked with him as a kid, not necessarily to a detrimental degree, it always entertained them both. But it happened enough to make him suspicious of most things. As soon as something felt out of place, his brain became attached to it, compelling him to collect clues like a child hunting for Easter eggs - a compulsive and exciting race to the end result, to the truth hidden somewhere in between the pages of the case file. </p><p> </p><p>The best mystery in his life at the moment, dubbed The Puzzling Persistence of Treadmill Guy, absorbed an unhealthy amount of Ryan’s thoughts. He didn’t consider himself obsessed, or even quite in sleuthing mode, after the first encounter. He wrote it off that night, unable to shake off the wink, both its meaning and his nonresponse of staring lamely back. He crawled into his bed, confused but not fixated. That fact changed, however, after the second time. </p><p> </p><p>Night number two of the gym rivalry left him more rattled, despite it being a nearly identical recap of the first time. Just the fact that the guy seemed so sure of himself and unperturbed by Ryan’s competitiveness left Ryan a little more than baffled. When, on the third gym encounter, Ryan watched the man leave and openly wave goodbye to him, the need to get to the bottom of this stranger completely encompassed him.</p><p> </p><p>“I just don’t understand, man. It’s so strange.” He commented at lunch. He’d gotten up early for his morning Bio class, and damn it, what was the point if he couldn’t treat himself to a burrito with his friend for the effort. </p><p> </p><p>Steven sat across him, picking at his nacho bowl. He examined the bite on his fork before slipping it in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “This is definitely not the best burrito place we could’ve found on campus. Isalita is much better.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, but this is a three dollar burrito.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s exactly my point.”</p><p> </p><p>Ryan swallowed and rolled his eyes, “You just don’t understand the simple joy of a cheap burrito. And did you even hear me?” </p><p> </p><p>Now Steven had the opportunity to roll his eyes right back, “Yes, yes. Your mystery man. Have you told Bella about him?” </p><p> </p><p>Ryan shrugged, setting his food down and cleaning up the mess on his fingers with an equally messy napkin. “I guess not, it hasn’t really come up. I haven’t had the chance.” </p><p> </p><p>“You haven’t had the chance? You and I have had five separate conversations about Treadmill Guy, and you don’t even know his name yet. I can literally picture the dude with probably a good amount of accuracy.” </p><p> </p><p>Ryan flushed, attempting to defend himself as he reached for another napkin. “Well, I just don’t think it’d be something Bell would be super interested in. He’s just a guy I’ve noticed a few times.” </p><p> </p><p>“Even if she wouldn’t be, it’s something - or someone - you’re interested in.” Steven leaned back, no hint of malice as he spoke, just honesty. The honesty Ryan usually appreciated and sought out in times of need. Steven had always been a good friend, he looked out for Ryan, but man, was he hard to listen to as he continued. “I just think a loving, supportive girlfriend would be open to hearing about her boyfriend’s interests even if they don’t align perfectly with what she’s into.” </p><p> </p><p>Ryan sighed, his stomach churning a little bit at Steven’s implication. “We’re not having this conversation again, Steven. I like Bella, and it’s still early, we just became, like, a thing. An exclusive thing.” </p><p> </p><p>Steven looked like he wanted to protest, but thought better of it at the sight of Ryan’s tired look. They both knew what road they’d travel if they continued with the conversation. Steven would try to subtly protest Bella’s presence in Ryan’s life without outright saying it; Ryan would bristle and try to deflect; Steven would bat the ball back by pointing out whatever shitty thing Bella had done recently; Ryan would shut it down. It was a whole song and dance number at this point, each friend playing out their role dutifully. </p><p> </p><p>The silence between them lingered, sweltering along with the general heat of the restaurant. As much as the food lacked in tastiness, the atmosphere of the small business couldn’t be beat. It reminded Steven of the family get-togethers he’d accompanied Ryan to, the ones where Ryan’s abuela rushed around the kitchen preparing delicious tamales with the confidence of someone with decades of experience. The house usually buzzed with the same high energy, welcoming spirit that this restaurant did. Despite its subpar nacho bowls and general lack of customers, the place had a comforting quality that Steven imagined made up the real reason Ryan liked it so much. </p><p> </p><p>Giving in, Steven took another bite of his food before calling it quits. “So, what’s new with this Treadmill Guy? Any new theories?” If he couldn’t get through to Ryan, at least he’d humor him in other subjects. </p><p> </p><p>Ryan perked up almost immediately, “I’m really thinking aliens with this one.” </p><p> </p><p>That got a good laugh out of the both of them, and they chatted idly before Ryan checked the time and announced his need to get going. The departure was brief, they’d see each other in the dorm anyways that night. </p><p> </p><p>As Ryan headed to his 1:30 Chemistry lecture, he mulled over what Steven had said. He let the unenthusiastic sentiments about Bella roll around in his head while he crossed the street, walking with that uncaring student walk that told drivers “fuck it, hit me, pay my student loans.” </p><p> </p><p>By the time he reached the Quad, the grass filled with students basking in the nice weather, Ryan still didn’t have an answer. Not for the Treadmill Guy, or for what to do about his friends’ dislike of his girlfriend. More friends than just Steven had voiced their concern, or outright disapproval, of Bella. And, Ryan just didn’t get it. Significant amounts of evidence remained missing in his case file for that issue; his friends only ever broached the subject in vague terms. Everything stayed circumstantial, he had no concrete proof about why she, apparently, stayed dislikeable. </p><p> </p><p>Steven never seemed to want to get ugly and thus avoided saying his opinions in their entirety. Curly, normally very assertive, stayed somewhat quiet on the topic, never fully explaining his hesitance. Even Sara, with whom Ryan worked every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday, kept him in the dark about her evidently bad feelings. </p><p> </p><p>Something had to be wrong, for all these people to simultaneously become tight-lipped and skeptical of his relationship. Ryan thought he’d done well in dating Bella. They’d met in their first humanities prereq class, both on track to declare as STEM majors. She had had a difficult time adjusting to the study habits necessary to pass at the collegiate level, and Ryan, ever the gentleman researcher, offered his help. It worked perfectly, and soon, their late night study sessions began to develop into more. Ryan loved it, and so did Bella. She started passing her quizzes, Ryan started falling harder, everything fit together so well. </p><p> </p><p>And, he argued internally, as neared the hall, Bella was an awesome person. She was fun, she was super pretty, she was carefree, and holy shit, she was right there. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, babe!” Ryan grinned as Bella spotted him. </p><p> </p><p>She rose from her blanket, her notes scattered in a semicircle with her phone. She smiled, a pretty mauve color adorning her lips, drawing Ryan in. They met in the middle, Ryan hands dropping to Bella’s waist, and her smile turning into a soft pressure against his lips. The brief kiss felt nice, it made Ryan even more confused about everything. The light press, the barest hint of those smiling teeth behind her lips, it made Ryan dizzy. The vertigo from the change in Ryan’s mind nearly overwhelmed him, and he sought her kiss to steady himself. It gave him whiplash, to adjust his thinking from “Bella is bad” to “God, fuck, this kiss is so good.” </p><p> </p><p>Pulling away made his heart stutter, but Bella’s shy grin was a soothing balm over the missed beat. He was so gone and he knew it. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” she said, smiling up at him.</p><p> </p><p>That was another thing, Ryan’s brain supplied. She was shorter than him, and so cute, her thick brown hair adorably skimming her shoulders. She had a certain brand of magnetism, drawing people in comfortably. It made sense why she had the title of “popular,” despite Ryan’s friends not falling in that category of drawn in people.</p><p> </p><p>Her fiery personality, the one that shined at parties and kept him constantly entertained, seemed subdued out here on the Quad. Something felt off today, but Ryan didn’t have time to dwell on that, he’d be late if he lingered. </p><p> </p><p>Backing up, he gave Bella another quick kiss to the cheek and apologized. “Sorry, Bell, I’m running late. I’ll call tonight? After my shift?” </p><p> </p><p>“I won’t pick up,” she teased, shaking her head. “I’m going out tonight, I’ll text when I get back.” </p><p> </p><p>Glancing at his watch, Ryan knew he really needed to get going, but as he backed away, he sputtered out, “Well, what about tomorrow? We could grab dinner.”</p><p> </p><p>He watched as she returned to her blanket and pursed her lips, mock-thoughtfully. He smiled expectantly, the restless feeling kicking in. “I’ll think about it, I might be busy. I, uh, I’ll text.”</p><p> </p><p>A bloom of relief perked up beneath Ryan’s rib cage, and he grinned. “Perfect. Well, see you later. Have a good day!” </p><p> </p><p>Someone else had stolen his usual seat when he entered the large lecture hall, but it didn’t bother Ryan all that much. Picking a different spot, towards the upper half of the hall, barely registered in his infatuated brain. He floated through the lecture on a cloud, just kissing Bella and possibly green-lighting a date always did this to him. It gave him a rush, blurring out his surroundings completely, to the point where he heard nothing of the lecture. </p><p> </p><p>While his class continued on around him, Ryan’s mind meandered away from Bella. He could compartmentalize his mixture of confused and elated feelings for her - it’d been a strange cocktail he’d sipped for weeks now. Their relationship had started only a month before, their study-buddy companionship prior to that. His friends only began their weird dance around Bella and their disapproval of her three weeks before. It’d taken only a week for them to start acting strange, and really, Ryan couldn’t keep thinking about that. It was starting to become incredibly frustrating.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, he strayed towards Treadmill Guy, a moniker Steven had come up with following Ryan’s suggestion of Tall Asshole. Ryan intended on going to the gym that night, after his shift, since he could cross calling Bella off his list. Something in his gut told him the guy would be there tonight, despite the fact that Ryan never went after work. He couldn’t quite tell if that something was the nagging suspicion, the desire to accumulate more evidence, or the addicting quality the man had. </p><p> </p><p>Ryan really, really wanted to know the guy’s name. He’d tried looking him up through friends’ Instagram accounts, but with most of them having a follower count in the several thousands, it became unsustainable - and fruitless - to look through the lists. His descriptions of the guy to Steven and Curly yielded no leads. That didn't surprise him, he thought the guy was a student as well, and there were about 50,000 students on campus during any given semester. He worried that if he kept talking about the guy’s appearance, Curly would just take the extra step for him and start gluing a sketch of the man’s face with Ryan’s number all over campus. He could picture it so easily, a shittily drawn poster with the guy’s kind eyes and long nose, Ryan’s phone number in a massive font at the bottom.</p><p> </p><p>Groaning, Ryan recognized the end of the class, the shuffle of notebooks reentering bags informing him of his surroundings. He glanced down at his notes, the only thing staring back up at him the headers of the slideshow presentation, none of the content really filling in between. He’d just ask Sara for her notes, she had the same professor on a different schedule of the same class. It was probably also a good idea to crack open the textbook for some serious note taking, he thought while heading back to the dorms. </p><p> </p><p>Entering the second half of his busy day, Ryan dropped off his work and picked up his gym bag. He grabbed a trail mix baggie, a prepackaged muffin, and a protein shake from his and Steven’s shared mini-fridge. Double checking that he had his charger, earbuds, and student card on him, he set off.</p><p> </p><p>The campus buzzed with activity this time of day, the Quad’s population of blanket toting studiers thinning, balanced by the sidewalks filling with those in search of a nice meal and fun nighttime activities. It created the perfect, cozy atmosphere, the mid October weather tempering the summer heat the city had too long endured. As Ryan strolled down the sidewalks, he took his time, side stepping the students on their phones and the parents clutching their kids’ hands. Once it approached dinnertime, the streets would glow with pretty, hipster stringed lights that Ryan couldn’t help but admire. As expensive as attending university was, he had to admit the campus was really cool. </p><p> </p><p>It almost made the college ticket price worth it. Almost.</p><p> </p><p>“Sup Sara,” Ryan unlocked and opened the door to the employee’s entrance in the library. It was a private access; he and Sara didn’t work in the main part of the library. Working in archives and doing occasional maintenance work meant they didn’t have to deal with the public, thank God. </p><p> </p><p>Sara glanced up from her monitor with a grin, her eyebrows furrowed. “‘Sup?’ Careful Bergara, your frat boy energy is showing.” </p><p> </p><p>He laughed, setting his bag down below his desk, right across from hers. “Hey, I was just trying to be nice. Trying to bring a friendly mood to this hostile workplace.” </p><p> </p><p>She rolled her eyes, shuffling some of the papers on her desk while Ryan clocked in. “So hostile, your poor life is certainly in danger.”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe not my life, but my feelings are definitely in danger.” He mumbled, not meaning it. “Which reminds me, I need your help.”</p><p> </p><p>He sat down at his desk, plugging in his phone and laying his snacks out. Sara immediately grabbed for the trail mix. Ryan always offered up half of his dinner to her anyways, the loss wasn’t worth an obituary or even a second thought. She ripped open the seal and tipped a handful back into her mouth, talking around her chewing, “Yeah? What’s up?” </p><p> </p><p>“‘What’s up?’ Now your frat boy energy is showing.” He grinned as she swatted him.</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up before I steal your muffin, too.” </p><p> </p><p>“I need your class notes from Chemistry. I didn’t get much of the lecture today.” </p><p> </p><p>“For Csankovszki?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.” </p><p> </p><p>“Oof.” Sara whistled lowly, munching on the trail mix with care. “That’s a rough class to not pay attention to, Ryan. It’ll cost you.” </p><p> </p><p>He winced. “I know, I know. I just couldn’t focus.” </p><p> </p><p>“Thinking of a certain someone?” She teased, eyeing him while he picked at his muffin.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, just a little. Bella said she might be free for dinner tomorrow.” </p><p> </p><p>Sara immediately scowled. “I thought you guys broke up?” </p><p> </p><p>“What?” Ryan sat up. “Why would you think that?” </p><p> </p><p>She looked at him cautiously, her hands out placating with the baggie. She shrugged, “Chill, dude. I thought I heard something about that, I thought you’d said that Tuesday, my bad.” </p><p> </p><p>Relaxing, he looked back to his monitor, which was still black. He’d forgotten to turn it on, he realized, and as he pressed the power button, he chanced a look back up at Sara. She gazed at him strangely, a look he couldn’t read. “What?” </p><p> </p><p>“Nothing, man. You gotta relax. I’ll send my notes over tomorrow after my lecture. But!” She leaned over their computers conspiratorially. “You have to cover for me Sunday.” </p><p> </p><p>“Deal.” He said immediately, and they shook on it. “What’s happening Sunday?”</p><p> </p><p>“Shane and I are going to this live music thingy, there’s this restaurant on State Street that has live bands every night on the weekends.” </p><p> </p><p>Ryan nodded along, pulling his earbuds out from his pocket. “I don’t know this Shane fellow, but it sounds fun. Are we just scanning the files tonight? I don’t need to go clean something?” </p><p> </p><p>“Yep.” Sara confirmed, her attention returning to the papers before her. She swiped some trail mix remnants off the files, before getting back to work. The library didn’t pay them to talk.</p><p> </p><p>“Cool.” Ryan slipped his earbuds in, clicking through his podcast app to his tried-and-true. As soon as Keith’s smooth voice began to coast through his ears, Ryan thought about the gym and Treadmill Guy. It immediately distracted him from the episode, even though he’d already missed this episode’s contents last time because of the rival. Sighing, Ryan looked at the time until his barely started shift ended. Only four hours until he could go to the gym. Maybe he should’ve been more concerned about how excited that prospect made him, but nobody needed to know about that. It was none of their business if he looked forward to literally racing a stranger, he insisted to himself. Totally normal.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you guys liked! This story is fun for me to write in between preparing for college and stuffs. I'm working on getting back to my other main fic too, if there's any people reading both. </p><p>Let me know your thoughts, thanks y'all!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ryan is a little spazzy</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey guys! I got another chapter up! Woot woot! I hope you're all doing well, I really appreciated reading all of y'all's comments on the last chapter. I think it's super dope you seem to be enjoying this story as much as I am. Y'all are the coolest and goddamn, you guys have good intuition ;)</p><p>I also really appreciate all the kudos, really, the response to this fic makes me really happy, thank you all.</p><p>I don't want to shamelessly self-plug, but I did want to mention I started an art (mostly fanart) account on Insta @nukphoric if any of you are interested. I do have a Shane and Ryan drawing up on there, I can't stop myself from drawing and writing with them, so check that out if you want even more content from me lol. </p><p>Also, for this chapter, here is my reference for describing Shane: <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=shane+madej&amp;rlz=1C1CHBD_enUS856US856&amp;sxsrf=ALeKk03-Tyr15IrDPd9Y-ReINlszsj6hEg:1592711452742&amp;source=lnms&amp;tbm=isch&amp;sa=X&amp;ved=2ahUKEwjl5frCgJLqAhWbQs0KHf-zABkQ_AUoAXoECBMQAw&amp;biw=1920&amp;bih=979#imgrc=zX2nAXTmagp1kM">enjoy</a><a></a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Wanting to race totally was not normal in any way, shape, or form, Ryan thought. He had started panting several minutes before, struggling to keep up the pace on the treadmill. Why had he been excited for this? What demon had possessed his mind four hours before in order to make him think </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> was worth any excitement or positive feelings?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Looking past the frosted glass of the window in front of him, Ryan thought hard about the need to invest in a bandanna or headband of his own. He needed something to keep his hair from flopping against his forehead and to stop the actually ridiculous amount of sweat beading down his face. The row of treadmills, situated in front of a wall of windows, were all working overtime, each occupied as the gym hosted a ton of patrons that night. Behind him and through his earbuds, Ryan could hear a personal trainer instructing a large group. The commands and praise she offered were swept up in the sound of Ryan’s laboring arteries, podcast, and the buzzing machines all around him, but they persisted, faint. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Somehow, despite all of the people in the gym, Treadmill Guy had managed to snag the machine directly to the left of Ryan again, his treadmill’s noises adding to the cacophony of gym ambiance. The man’s dedication was almost impressive, if not incredibly frustrating to Ryan’s worn out body. This racing thing had started to broach the excessive line minutes before, and now trampled across the border of </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking absurd</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gulping for air, Ryan noted the speedometer, a taunting 7.0 mph gazing back at him, unfazed. The sharp, sleek letters on the display remained ambivalent to his plight, and Ryan resented it for that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lungs stinging like they’d gotten a case of internal road rash, Ryan looked to his left. Treadmill Guy seemed in pain as well, but not nearly as bad as Ryan. His long arms swayed partly side to side as he ran, his posture terrible and curved forward. The bandanna, mustard yellow this time, struggled with the task of keeping his unruly hair at bay. It was a nice sight, seeing this dude sweating. That sounded weird, Ryan thought. He liked the sweat because that meant Treadmill Guy was suffering. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just the quick flit of the word “suffering” across his brain reminded Ryan of his own, the struggle he persisted through, the tightness everywhere in his body. He knew he should try to relax, tensing up could lead to an injury and make it harder to breathe. He didn’t have much experience with running, nothing close enough to be called a history with it, but he knew well enough to recognize the need to relax. Better yet, he should’ve probably stopped entirely, start his cool down, or at the very least, slow down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But instead, Ryan faced forward, squeezing his eyes shut hard, trying to will himself onward. If he could just keep going a little longer, just another quarter mile, he could definitely outdo this dude. If Ryan could just keep pushing - </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, fuck!” Ryan gasped, pressing blindly at the reduced speed button. A sharp pain lanced up his side, and he floundered to grip the railing beside him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In a flash of mere seconds, Ryan said a hail Mary in his head, fully expecting to have his face become acquainted with the hard plastic dashboard. The pain in his side made him jolt as it spasmed repeatedly under his ribs, and he lunged for the railings.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His sweaty hand slipped from the bar and he tripped a little. His right hand didn’t react quickly enough, it was preoccupied being clamped against his side. But before he could realize what happened, his feet betraying him despite the snail belt speed of 2.3 mph, a hand caught him. A hand not belonging to himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan leaned gratefully into it, righting his footing and rubbing harder into the twisted ache in his side. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wait a minute.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes snapped to his side, blinking from the sweat and pain. Treadmill Guy held him up by his left, incredibly sweaty, elbow. He looked down at the long fingers clasped against his skin, resting comfortably in the junction of his joint, and then back at the face of the stranger. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man was breathing harshly, obviously trying to reach a good rhythm and right his own panting. His mouth was open, a delicate part barely revealing pretty teeth and surrounded by thin, light pink lips. Ryan sucked in a breath, blaming it on the pain in his side, and the hand tightened around him while the stranger’s chest heaved. The t-shirt he wore clung, wet, to his shoulder blades, bunched up around and under his armpits. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cute</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Ryan thought, noting the silhouette of a running corgi on the shirt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan reached out for the railing, righting himself fully, and the guy’s hand slipped off as soon as he gripped the hard plastic. His eyes searched around them, looking to see if any other gym patrons had noticed his blunder. Surprisingly, everyone carried on like usual, unbothered by Ryan’s carelessness and cry of expletives. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Turning back to the other guy, he worked up the nerve to speak, riding on the adrenaline coursing through him just as the pain started to subside. He needed to say something, he couldn’t let this event, the touch and save from Ryan’s fall, just dissipate. This was the moment the week of rivalry had been leading up to, this was it. This was his chance. He needed to act, he needed to speak, to say anything. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you - ” He blurted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You okay, man - “ The other man had started, but sputtered. “Wait, what?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan winced at himself. Straightening to stand up taller, he tried to stretch out his side and save his opportunity to talk to Treadmill Guy at once. “I said, fuck you. And your long limbs, fuck those too.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Treadmill Guy started to laugh, nervously at first, but when Ryan reached the end of his statement, the man fully grinned. Ryan glanced to his left, a smile starting to creep up on his own lips. He continued his assault, letting the wave of panic and confusion transform into fun, giggling around the ludicrous words he said. “Fuck all of you, you suck, bro.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man let out a deep laugh, interrupted only by the tired breaths he kept trying to catch. “I mean, that can be arranged.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan’s stomach somersaulted, kicking his aching side as it did. He flushed and breathed in deeply. “I’m - I’m going to ignore that for the moment.” He said, his words stumbling over themselves, not unlike Ryan just had himself. His confidence evaporated slightly, and more nervous laughs left their cage in his throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The guy chuckled, reaching up to fix his bandanna. As he raised his arms, Ryan couldn’t help but notice how sweaty he was, and how lanky his body appeared underneath the wet t-shirt. His eyes dipped lower, involuntarily, to the little bit of hair peeking out from the edge of his lifted shirt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan immediately averted his gaze, busying himself with raising the speed to a more comfortable 3.3 mph. The pace let him lengthen his stride, making his stretching the injury easier. It had nearly disappeared, and Ryan was thankful it was only a minor cramp. He breathed in slowly, the silence falling between him and the guy starting to alarm him. Did he really just tell the guy to fuck off, and did he </span>
  <em>
    <span>flirt</span>
  </em>
  <span> back with Ryan?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Seriously though, are you okay? You’ve pretty much only said ‘fuck’ in the last ten minutes.” The guy casually asked, adjusting his treadmill’s speed as well. He settled for a speed similar to Ryan’s, and the way he walked and spoke nonchalantly made Ryan picture them on a walk like two suburbanite moms gossiping. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan shrugged, flushing again, hoping and praying that it blended in with his redness from exercise. “Sorry ‘bout that. I’m okay, really. Just a really sharp cramp.” He paused, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, thankful his breathing had finally evened out and the pain had stopped. “It just kind of surprised me, you know? I’m okay. Thank you for catching me before I fell and made it worse.” He trailed off, looking over at the man. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He waved Ryan’s thanks away, taking his second earbud out. Ryan noticed how only one had been hanging out of his ear while they talked, and watched as Treadmill Guy tucked the pair into his basketball shorts pocket. It confirmed to Ryan that he wanted to keep talking, and Ryan shelved that away as a win. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to thank me. You know, if you’re ever pushing too hard and want to slow down the pace, you can just say so. I won’t mind changing up the routine, trying out a smooth, slow jog.” He spoke with hands, gesticulating vaguely to the air. He let one glide out in front of him as if it was riding a wave when he described the “smooth” jog.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan grinned, “Oh yeah? You just want to win. You’re not fooling me or anyone, Big Guy.” That last part had slipped out against his will, and he immediately wanted to crawl into a hole. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man’s expressive eyebrows quirked up along with the corners of his mouth, “I’m not fooling you because I’m not trying to. I’m serious, you shouldn’t push yourself to the point of injury. I know that’s hard for you to accept, you competitive little guy.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Little guy? Excuse you, bro, we can take this outside. I’m five foot ten.” Ryan defended, not really meaning any of it. His heart picked up the pace slightly at the return of a nickname. Not that he liked being called “little guy,” but he did find it interesting how well the man threw the insults back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His rival rolled his eyes, “Okay, </span>
  <em>
    <span>bro</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Let’s not get so worked up, you’ll injure yourself again.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shut up, man. I can’t believe you want me to tell you when we should slow down, even though this is my first time talking to you. We don’t talk and yet you want me to communicate my speed preferences?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That can also be arranged.” The man said immediately.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘What?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Talking. We can talk more than just when you nearly die on a treadmill.” He ran a hand through his hair behind the bandanna, the relaxed motion making Ryan want to combust. Something about the ease with which the guy carried himself, how he spoke, made Ryan jealous. His cheeks started burning just at the implications of what his rival (maybe new friend?) had just said, and he hadn’t even been the one to say it. How was that fair?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who says I want to keep talking to you?” Ryan asked, lifting an eyebrow. In a way, this felt dangerous. Ryan could be completely blowing his chance of actually getting to know him. His whole case was riding on this conversation, and yet, he couldn’t help himself from teasing. “It’s pretty presumptuous of you to assume.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, the guy smiled, his voice lowering a little. He picked up the bit so effortlessly, not fumbling for a second as Ryan baited him. “It’s not really that bold to assume you’d be down to talk more. I think it’s to your advantage, really.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How’s that?” Ryan asked, breathless. Maybe he should slow down his pace again, and upon thinking that, he did, pressing the ‘end workout’ button. The belt gradually reached a stop. He turned completely to his left.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s a pretty strategic move, the more we talk, the more you can worm your way into my head and get to know me. Maybe you’ll discover some stuff that’ll help you reach victory over me. You never know unless you try.” He grinned, a shit eating grin, and mirrored Ryan’s actions. Something about the smile told Ryan he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist; something in his chest pulled taut and tight when he acknowledged how much they seemingly were on the same page about Ryan’s desire to know him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright. You got me.” Ryan licked his lips, conceding.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before stepping down to grab a wipe for the treadmill, Ryan shook his head and pulled out his phone. He handed it over, and watched the man type his number in as a new contact, his long torso hunched over the phone. He passed it back to Ryan and got off the treadmill. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is there a name I should put in for the contact? ‘Treadmill Guy?’”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bleh, no. I much prefer ‘Big Guy’ over ‘Treadmill Guy’, thank you very much.” He threw his wipe away too and gently put his hand on Ryan’s elbow again, moving them both out of the way of the treadmills so others could use them. Ryan straightened at the contact, at how easily the guy touched him. He needed to get out of the gym, the night had been pretty confusing, and it got even more perplexing when the man added, “But you can come up with whatever nickname you’d like, baby.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan choked on nothing as he watched Treadmill Guy smile knowingly and start heading over towards the lockers; he remained standing, dumbfounded as stale air pumped out from a vent above his head. His sweaty hair ruffled from the distinct and artificial blasts. His eyes glazed a little, and he blamed it on the combination of his contacts and the a/c. He blinked, looking where Treadmill Guy had been standing and then dazedly shifted his stare to his elbow, the sensation of slender fingers lingering. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I - have a girlfriend.” He mumbled to no one. It fell on no other ears but his own, and he couldn’t help but admit it was a pretty tepid response. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>-<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Ultimately, Ryan decided upon “Big Guy” instead of “Treadmill Guy” as the contact name, adding a little running guy emoji afterwards. He’d have to tell Steven about the moniker change, which would also affect the name of their - or Ryan’s - casefile. He wasn’t quite invested enough to bust out a manilla folder and Sharpie the name on it, but walking back to his dorm room, Ryan did take the time to sort out his thoughts. The night, and day as a whole, had been long, gifting him plenty of evidence for his troubles. What did he know? What could he safely conclude?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The guy was kind, and talking to him was about as fun as racing him. He seemed interested in a friendship with Ryan, enough to take out his earbuds to talk and to save Ryan’s clumsy ass from falling on a treadmill. He was still incredibly tall, of course, but Ryan could add “strong” to the list of descriptors, having felt it firsthand on his elbow. Twice. Which also meant that Big Guy wasn’t opposed to physical contact either. He’d also called Ryan “baby,” and as he remembered that, Ryan felt a swoop in his stomach he didn’t know yet how to address. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He brushed off his own reaction in favor of thinking about Big Guy instead. As he pulled out his campus ID and key to the residence hall, he asked himself another guiding question. What did Big Guy calling him baby imply? Ryan’s best guesses were that one, the man was either incredibly comfortable in his heterosexuality to make passes at other men with no feelings behind them, or two, he was definitely not straight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan pushed open the door to his dorm with a little more force than necessary, rubbing absently at the heat on the back of his neck. He tossed his lanyard onto his bed and toed his shoes off, nodding hello in Steven’s direction. Stepping into the room, he felt utter exhaustion rush over him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How’d it go?” Steven perked up from beneath his heavy gray comforter, on which rested his laptop and an abandoned psychology textbook. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On autopilot, Ryan started collecting his shower caddy and simultaneously unpacking his gym bag. He looked around the room and pulled his crumpled, collapsible hamper out from its hiding spot under the bed. Over the course of the semester, their belongings had blended together naturally and Ryan found himself moving some of Steven’s papers out of the way to retrieve his towel and flip flops. He didn’t mind, it actually put him at ease, having someone so close that they could live on top of each other without problems. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ryan?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hm?” Ryan hummed over his shoulder, focusing the task at hand. His overwhelmed mind had shutdown out of spite, sick of the staggering amount of things he’d put it through that day. Now, it only served to loop the words “shower” and “bed.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steven sat up behind him, pausing his Netflix and scrambling out from underneath the blanket cocoon he’d wrapped around himself. “I asked how it went? Did you even hear me?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan blinked tiredly, and gripped the shower items against him. He wasn’t quite sure if he had it in him to keep analyzing all of the events and feelings of the day. “Work or the lecture?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The gym.” Steven smiled, leaning forward and adjusting his legs to hang over the edge. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan yawned and eyed Steven suspiciously. He shifted from side to side, inching closer to the door. “How do you know I went to the gym?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re super sweaty and blushing.” Steven laughed. “Did you see him? Find out his name? Is he nice?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan shook his head, and then quickly nodded. He rubbed at his forehead and backed up a little more. “Wait, dude, slow down. I’m so tired. I ran really hard, it’s been a long day.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steven’s expression immediately shifted towards concern, his impressive empathy reporting for duty to Ryan’ sake. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He felt his hip hit the corner of his desk, and he jumped from the contact. He stood only a foot from the door of their small dorm, and he held onto his shower items even tighter. “I just, I think I need - “ Ryan felt himself gesture wildly behind him, his brain grasping for the word. “Shower. I need that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alrighhhht, if you want to talk at all, I’m here for you.” Steven offered, his look pointed and earnest. It made Ryan feel a little more secure, and he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The mixed signals he seemingly had received from everyone that day started to drift into the background, knowing he at least had Steven watching his back. Ryan could vent at any time, he didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> to get so in his head about everything. It just sort of happened, and he felt a little guilty for being spazzy with his roommate and friend. Resetting, Ryan willed himself to relax his shoulders, giving Steven a small smile. “Thanks, man. Like I said, it’s been a really long day. I think I just need to get to bed, don’t worry about staying up.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Steven repeated, reaching back for his laptop once he’d given Ryan another once-over. “If you change your mind though.” He left his statement hanging, knowing full well Ryan could finish it for him. </span>
  <span></span><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He did, out of habit. “I can just say so. You’re the best, Steven Lim.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opening the door, Ryan stepped out onto the short, denim colored carpet of their corridor. Before he let the door swing shut or he could change his mind, he popped his head back in. Steven’s eyes shot back up towards him curiously, and Ryan blurted, “He prefers being called “Big Guy” instead of “Treadmill Guy,” so. But that’s all I got.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steven just smiled at his computer screen, dimples and all, as the door clicked shut.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading! Hope you guys are doing well, feel free to leave comments (I love reading them, they keep me writing) and if you want to chat or anything, I'm @nukphoric on Insta :) My DMs are hella open</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ryan has a mini crisis</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey guys! This chapter has a lot of contemplation on one's sexuality and identity. None of the language is triggering or offensive, but it's still there. I figured I'd give a heads up for anyone who maybe has had a hard time with discovering themselves and would rather not be reminded of their struggles. You're all strong and cool</p>
<p>On that note, happy Pride! I, personally, am bisexual and have known this pretty much my whole life. I didn't have much of a questioning phase, unlike our poor Ryan here. Don't worry though, y'all there's some funny fluffy gayness/bi-ness/pan-ness incoming! </p>
<p>I hope you're all doing well, much love as always! Enjoy :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ryan Steven Bergara, eighteen years old and studying at his dream college, had a date and nothing to wear. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Normally, he would have lamented this fact to Steven, make a snarky joke and steal something of his roommate’s. However, he found himself alone in their dorm, staring down the barrel into his open closet, unwilling to snag something of Steven’s. The row of hanging snap-backs, sandwiched between plain t-shirts, tank tops, and solid color hoodies, mocked him. If he squinted, an existential crisis crouched in the hiding spot of the clothes rack. Something about the basic looking clothes represented a void of personality, his brain supplied randomly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ryan needed to wake up more before he could really think about what that meant.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Settling for his trusty denim button down and a deep red t-shirt, Ryan tugged on his black skinny jeans, grabbed his backpack of schoolwork, and called it a draw. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The coffee shop he frequented resided southwest of central campus, where he lived in the East Dorm. The hike to the shop was not short by any means, but remained well worth it time after time. He, like any scared freshman, flocked to the cozy, pseudo-intellectual atmosphere for comfort while he typed frantically away at his essays. It was the type of place where he could put his phone on airplane mode, and still find himself distracted. It was the type of place every freshman haunted, the blend of coffee as a symbol of adulthood and the illusion of productivity consoling all of them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ryan felt mixed feelings about it, the forefront of his mind being occupied by the fact that there were others there with the same predicament as him: the need to develop their personalities as they started the next section of their lives, the need to congregate with other floundering students searching for a platform to stand on. Something substantial brought them all together, the burning desire to be someone but still remaining unsure of how to get there. Ryan wanted to get to the bottom of that, for himself and for others, he wanted to document and record the phenomena. But, mainly, Ryan thought, he just needed a damn coffee. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding the eyes of people he passed on the street. Maybe he should’ve majored in philosophy instead of his projected STEM major. Despite the blurry eyes and soreness in his legs as he made the trek, Ryan’s brain was rapidly firing down a weird introspective path this morning. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Part of him just felt strange, like there was a nagging at the base of his brain. Something tugging insistently at the top of his spinal cord, moving him forward towards something he didn’t quite understand. To be fair, he reasoned, once he reached the skinny door of the already crowded shop, a lot of things had happened in the last week. In the words of Sara, it was “completely valid” to be worn out sometimes. He deserved a fun Friday, a dinner date with his beautiful girlfriend, and an overpriced coffee served in the midst of a crowd of impressionable youths such as himself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>While waiting in the queue after placing his order - one medium vanilla latte, fuck yes on the whipped cream - he pulled out his phone. Two unread messages made their presence known at the top of the screen, adjacent to the small crack in the glass Ryan swore was not his fault. One of them, from Bella, simply a heart, made him smile to himself. He clicked on it to remove the notification and give himself the luxury of reading over the morning’s message again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>8:43 a.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You didn’t call me last night :( </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>or text</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Sorry Bell, I passed the hell out.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span> It was a long day, and i went to the gym</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s all good but you owe me a dinner, handsome</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh yeah? How does 7 sound?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>We could walk to Noodles and Company after your last class</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Sounds perfect, i’m excited to see you</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe after we could watch a movie?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>My place, your pick? ;)</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re spoiling me, babe</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll see you then, have a good day!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You too</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>&lt;3</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It still made him smile, regardless of how someone in the shop shouldered past him rudely while he stood looking at his phone. He immediately felt lighter, it was crazy how nice it felt to be wanted. He perked up rereading Bell calling him handsome, it made him believe it. It reassured him in the most delicious of ways. On top of that, the promise of more to come later made him ready to face the day. Ryan thought maybe he understood why there had been wars fought in the name of women; he thought it maybe possible he could and did love that strongly as well. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As he retrieved his coffee and made his way out, Ryan opened the second text, from the Big Guy. Ryan finally bulked up the courage to shoot off a simple “Hey it’s Ryan. From the gym :)” once he’d woken up. He hadn’t replied, but Ryan quickly forgot about that, distracted by the exchange with his girlfriend. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The reply was … less than what Ryan had expected. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>9:58 a.m.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ryan eyed it suspiciously, holding the phone up so he could scan the letters while he sipped from the cup. No smiley face, no emojis, no pet names. Not even an accompanying meme that they could chat about. The man still didn’t offer his name, despite Ryan’s admission of his own. It made Ryan regret that decision slightly, maybe texting a random dude wasn’t the smartest choice. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The chat remained barren as Ryan contemplated it more. He shoved the device in his pocket before saying anything and continued on his walk. He needed to find a spot to study and pour over the notes Sara would be sending him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Quad had already started filling with students, trying to make the most of the good weather while it lasted. The closer to Halloween they got, the colder the nights grew, indicative of what laid ahead of them. California, his home state, stayed so warm all year, and Ryan didn’t know how he’d adjust to his first real winter. The wind picked up around him, as if it had heard his thoughts, nudging him forward and nearly whipping his drink out of his hand. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He tightened his hold on both the cup and the strap of his backpack, looking around for some place to harbor him. Some place sheltered from the elements and hoards of students. His eyes flitted over the Student Union building, a massive gray brick structure with wide, impressive granite steps. They beckoned him in, and he took the wide stairs two at a time. He stumbled into the entryway, the ceilings towering far above his head. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’d been in the Union before, but that was back in the summer during orientation and then once more when he’d actually moved to campus. Being an out of state student meant he’d only really had orientation as his opportunity to feel out the campus; plane tickets were expensive, after all. The orientation and conversations with others had clued him into the resources the Union held, but he’d never found a reason to wander in. Up ahead, some steps led down to an area with tons of chairs and tables, perfect for his needs. As he started forward, he almost immediately stopped again once he passed the archway. Above his head, hanging over the stairs that led to the chairs, four Pride flags swung loosely. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ryan stared at them, eyes wandering over the colors. He could recognize the gay one easily enough, he knew what rainbows meant. But he hesitated with trying to fill in the blanks for the others. He knew the campus and university as a whole remained rather inclusive, thankfully, but Ryan didn’t expect to see the flags. Not outside of May, at least. June? He thought Pride month happened around that time of year, when LA was pulling her fist back to hit them with the worst heat she could and students were itching for summer festivities. He’d never been to Pride before, but he’d seen photos. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you lost?” A voice asked to his right.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ryan jumped a little, turning to greet the voice. A girl, definitely a student, examined him. “Oh, um, yeah. I don’t come in here often.” Ryan glanced at the flags again, trying not to awkwardly stare at the person.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re neat, aren’t they?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The flags,” she said simply. “I saw you looking at them. The Spectrum Center is here in the Union, if that’s what you’re looking for.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ryan took a drink of his coffee, before looking at her again. She had pretty brown eyes and her leather jacket looked worn, and definitely warmer than his shirt. He replied to her, “I’ve heard of that, but, um, I’ve never been. I didn’t know it was in here, my friend Curly works there.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The dude at the front desk?” She smiled, and a small piercing peaked out from under her top lip. It shone, gold and bright, against her white teeth. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ryan smiled too and nodded, “Yeah. That’s the guy. Maybe I should go see him.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She shrugged and grinned again, “As long as you’re not standing in the doorway more.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He flushed and shuffled off to the side, guiltily. “Oh shit, sorry about that. Thanks for, uh, helping me, I guess.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re welcome, I guess.” She offered her hand. “My name’s Desiree.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He took her hand, almost dazedly. “Nice to meet you, I’m Ryan. I, uh, I guess I’ll see you around. Thanks again.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She grabbed at her bag, and nodded her head down. “See you! Maybe we’ll run into each other at the Spectrum, I’m there pretty often. It’s down that way, to the left” She offered another smile and Ryan watched as she left the Union.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He moved from his spot quickly, feeling as though he still stood in the way. Looking back at the flags and study space again, Ryan paced off to the left, towards the Center. Part of him felt compelled to visit since he’d talked about it with Desiree. It felt like the right choice, he’d feel strange just exiting that conversation and going to sit down in the common area. It wouldn’t hurt to check out, right? Sure, he wasn’t LTE or gay or anything, but he considered himself a supportive, open-minded dude. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shouldering his bag, he found his way to the Center, tossed his coffee cup, and walked in. The doors parted easily, covered with various flyers and a sleek Pride decal midway from the handle and the top of the door. Ryan didn’t take the time to look over the papers, but the bright colors made him pause momentarily.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ryan Bergara!” Curly immediately perked up from his desktop at the front desk. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ryan’s head stooped down and he flushed as he padded over the receptionist. “Hey Curly, how’s it going?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Curly gave him an appraising look and grinned widely, “Better now that you’re here, my friend. What can I do for ya? You’ve never been in here, have you?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ryan shrugged, smiling shyly. “Nah, I haven’t. Haven’t really had any reason to, you know.” He gestured behind him to the door, out into the rest of the Union. “I ran into someone, Desiree, she said it’d be good to check out and I know you work here, so.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh cool, Desiree’s sweet. She’s in a band here on campus, comes in here pretty often.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nice! Well, man, I’ll see you around. I just thought I’d say hi.” Ryan tapped his palm on the counter twice nervously, and made to turn around.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His friend hummed in response, not saying goodbye, looked back to his computer and selected some random things Ryan couldn’t see. Not long after, the printer behind him buzzed to life, spitting out a warm sheet with a happy click. Curly pushed himself back towards the device with his wheeled office chair, grabbing the flyer up with a totally unnecessary flourish. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s this?” Ryan asked upon his friend graciously shoving the sheet in his hand. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You can read, mi amigo, I know you can, that smarty pre-med track you’re on.” Curly watched as Ryan examined the sheet. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Welcomes all LGBTQ+ students for a (free) support group session, come talk with others in a welcoming, inclusive environment.’ Curly, I’m not gay.” Ryan read aloud and exclaimed, looking around the small waiting area. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His friend shook his head, “Ryan, no one’s saying you are.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you! Because I’m really not -” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m saying bisexuals and pansexuals exist, and you might be one of those.” He leaned back in his chair, sucking on the straw of a fountain pop. He looked pleased with himself, setting his cup down and bringing his hands up to his shock of dark curls. “Or demisexual, that’s also possible.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ryan leaned forward, resting his arms on the counter and brandishing the flyer in his grip as he spoke. “I don’t even know what pansexuality is! Is that a sexuality for - “</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t say for pots and pans, please.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ryan shut his mouth, glancing down at the paper and back up to his friend frantically. “The point is I’m not any of that. I’m straight.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What about your tall friend at the gym?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What about him? It’s not like, like, I’m attracted to him or anything.” Ryan sputtered, feeling his voice raise in pitch and wincing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh huh.” Curly looked at him, unconvinced. “I mean, whatever you say, Ryan. I won’t pressure you or anything, I believe you. This is, after all, a safe space to ask questions and discover things about yourself. A non-judgemental area.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you.” Ryan felt his mouth set in a line, looking down at the flyer again. The same Pride flags that had adorned the arch outside the Spectrum decorated the page, plus some. If he felt lost looking at just the plain rainbow one and three others, this was pure missing-in-action, invisible levels of lost. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The confused coward in him yearned to step back into the safety of the Student Union, escape to the study area, back to a place chock full of assuredly straight people that didn’t question their sexuality. Technically, this space was supposed to be safe, safer and more inclusive than the Union overall. That was part of the whole pitch, that anyone could ask questions and not fear any repercussions or backlash. Ryan supposed that “anyone” included straight guys with incredible tenacity and an undying curiosity about everything. Plus, knowing the Pride flags wouldn’t hurt anything, it would only help him become a more worldly, welcoming person. It was the twenty-first century, good, cool people accept everyone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Two girls - or maybe guys or maybe none of the above, Ryan didn’t want to assume - walked past him. He watched them smile and chat, perfectly secure to be in the Center. They enjoyed their stays apparently, why couldn’t he? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay. Okay, okay. You got me, your damn marketing pitch worked.” Ryan dragged a chair from the waiting room section of the office around to Curly’s side of the desk. It clunked along the corner of the divider noisily, and as Ryan slumped down hard in the seat, he remembered his homework. “Okay, fuck that.” He said aloud, organizing his thoughts. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Confused, Curly watched his friend set himself up and smooth the flyer out on the only bare part of his cluttered desk. As Ryan leaned over, he noticed the determined, set look in his friend’s expression and smiled. “Are you ready to have your mind blown? Ready to discover your inner queerness?” He teased. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ryan smiled and raised his finger up as he said, “No. But I do have some questions, you know, for research and so I can be a good person and a good friend.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Curly rolled his eyes, turned his monitor off, and said, “Hit me with ‘em, darling.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Together, they went over the different flags, as many as they could until Ryan’s brain was positively engulfed with terms he’d never heard and ones he had in equal measures. He felt mildly ashamed when he asked Curly about what bisexuality was, only to learn soon after its definition. They carefully skirted around some of the finer, more controversial aspects of the LGBTQ+ community as a whole; Ryan frankly didn’t possess enough knowledge about the various sections of the community to understand all the arguments over definitions and where one sexuality ended and another began. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>One topic Ryan fully understood, however, were the “MAPs” possibly trying to join the community. “Yeah, fuck those guys. No.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Curly nodded in agreement, and that represented all that needed to be said on the matter.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Before long, Ryan’s stomach growled and he realized how close to lunch they’d ventured. He picked up the flyer and put it neatly in between the two flattest notebooks in his bag. His fingers trailed lightly over the teeth of the open zipper, and he watched their movements as he spoke, “Uh, Curly. Thanks for - you know. Thanks, man, for teaching me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t even worry about it, Ryan. It’s literally my job. You just put food in my mini fridge.” He laughed, spinning in his chair. “Plus, if educating you on all things gay </span>
  <em>
    <span>inspires you</span>
  </em>
  <span> towards certain people, hey, I consider myself a miracle maker.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ryan blushed, standing and tossing his bag over his shoulder again. He returned his seat to its proper place and faced his friend. “Curly, I’m not gay or bisexual, or even pan. I’m pretty sure I’m straight, and I, uh, I like Bella.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His friend looked at him for a minute, not making any particular expression. Finally, he sighed, sitting forward and leaning over his desk like a proper receptionist would. The hard plastic of the chair creaked and Curly leaned on his hands, folded below his chin and pedestalling his smile. “Not to go all Steven Lim on you, mi amigo. But you know all of us care about you, none of us would ever judge you. We’ll love any version of Ryan that shows itself.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A small bubble of frustration floated up through Ryan’s abdomen, but popped in his throat before he could say anything. He wanted to retort what he’d been insisting, continuing to assert his sexuality, his identity. But on thinking that word, identity, Ryan’s anger died out. Seeing Curly’s open expression, his lack of jokes and poking at Treadmill Guy, this meant more than just some flirting or Ryan’s relationships. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ryan thought back to his closet this morning, about the row of snap-backs and whether they were really him; he thought back to the coffee shop, the freshmen filled seats soaked with the need to fit in. He was starting to piece together some of his case file, one not of Treadmill Guy, but of himself. His friends would support him no matter what. Whether he wore snap-backs like the frat boy he wasn’t and sat in a coffee shop like the hipster he didn’t feel like, or whether he did neither of those things and still overthought it like always. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His hand paused on the door handle and he looked back at Curly, feeling a strange wave deja vu from his scene with Steven the previous night. Something about the whiplash of his days and the comfort of his friends made Ryan picture himself as Bill Murray in an even weirder Groundhog Day situation. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, Curly. Thank you.” He said simply.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re most welcome. You owe me a drink next time we all go out though.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ryan grinned and stepped out into the Student Union corridor when he heard Curly call out to him again: “And I want a picture of your tall, sexy running buddy!”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you very much for reading! I'm having a lot of fun writing this as still, and I do have the whole thing figured out/blocked out. We're gonna finish this slow burn motherfucker! </p>
<p>I appreciate y'all's comments and kudos. I love love love hearing your thoughts, it makes me feel all fluffy like I'm Ryan getting saved on a treadmill by a sweaty, attractive mystery Shane. </p>
<p>Have a good day/night! I'm working on the next chapter as we speak :D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ryan shares not one but two meals</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sup y'all! It's 3:28 am where I am, and I'm kinda tired. It's hyper focused hours, I wrote most of this two days ago, but didn't have the opportunity to edit and post. So here you go! I wanted to get this out before June ended, but it's all good. </p><p>Speaking of, I wanted to say that I really loved the comments on the last chapter. This fic wasn't originally intended to be long or slow burn really, but I started writing and Ryan's character needed a slow, gradual discovery of himself/his sexuality. I want to do that discovery justice, and really try to write an authentic realization. Thank you all for the things you said! I'm happy others are identifying with this, and it's not just me and my hella bisexual ass.</p><p>I truly appreciate the support, kudos, comments, and reading in general. Y'all are great, happy (late) Pride! Enjoy :D</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Ryan graduated high school, he felt a mixture of elation and fear. The combination seemed typical among his friends, and in the summer before moving, he hung out more with people from high school than he ever had when they were classmates. He attended a staggering number of basketball matches, parties in dingy basements a la That 70s Show, and shopping trips for dorm supplies. One of the shopping trips led to him buying a wire scalp massager that even Steven called stupid. (“What? I get stressed a lot, it serves a practical purpose!”) </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Summer filled itself with an inordinate amount of time stressing and micromanaging, excessive even for Ryan’s standards. The closer his days drifted to that day, move-in with his university appointed time slot and borrowed cart to put his shit in, the more Ryan felt disconnected from it all. The idea of a spontaneous gap year crossed his mind a few times, and he told his friends such, mouthed around the lip of a beer bottle while they stayed out late hiding from their parents and themselves.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But ultimately, the time came for Ryan to pack up his clothes and laptop into the back of the car for a cross country drive. Despite the worrying, the anxious commiserating he and his friends had spent long nights on, Ryan felt good stepping onto campus. He’d visited once, but returning confirmed his choice. Steven had come with him, they jotted each other down as roommate requests, and things were set to start off a great four years. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So far, Ryan was pleased to admit that his worrying and overthinking of university had been unfulfilled. College life proved fun, rewarding, interesting, exciting. Sure, Ryan stressed himself out a lot, but he’d done that in high school, and middle school, and hell, elementary school too. He loved his home on campus, and he gladly told his parents such on their video chats. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What he didn’t love and didn’t prepare for at all those nerve filled bonfires, however, was the amount of fucking clipboards. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One of them, the petition wielding fiends, rounded on him soon after he left the Student Union in search of food and an actual study space. Usually, Ryan could evade them successfully, if he had his earbuds in and walked a certain, disinterested way. But, here he was, crossing the Quad defenseless and with no excuse to blurt out when the student came jogging up with a quickness. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A blond, fairly muscular guy rushed towards Ryan, hands outstretched, his pen a sword for the cause. He had on a Student Life liaison lanyard and a pin that told Ryan he belonged to the School of Business. “Hey, bro! Do you have time to talk about my petition? I’m with a student organization that -” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, um, hey I’m sorry, dude. I don’t really have time - “ Ryan looked around for his escape. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, but this is really important, we’re trying to advocate for - “ The person shoved the clipboard towards him again, and it hit Ryan’s forearm a little. He backed up a little, but had seen enough of the sheet to understand this person’s desperation. They’d gathered like four signatures only, and it was the end of the week. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m really sorry, but I’m not interested. I have somewhere to be.” Ryan explained, his heart rate picking up. The guy’s eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head as Ryan denied his offer. Ryan felt some small injection of panic into his bloodstream, and he tried to placate the student again, “Hey I’m sorry, but I don’t really have the time.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan faced the other direction and made it maybe three steps before his arm was yanked, hard. “Hey!” He yelped as he was forced to face the clipboard person. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Man, I’m just asking for a second of your time.” The student started, but didn’t get the opportunity to finish. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Hey! He said he’s not interested.” Someone interjected and Ryan felt his side connect with a torso. A solid, warm, soft torso. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He and the clipboard person both looked to the voice, and then let their gaze move up higher to their face. Treadmill Guy stood with his hand gripping a strap around his chest and his other arm now tucking Ryan against his side. The asshole with the petition visibly shrank back, his hand leaving Ryan’s arm, as if being reprimanded alerted him to his inappropriate behavior. He sputtered immediately, flushing and backtracking, “It was just a misunderstanding, man. We’re cool.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Big Guy scowled and Ryan felt bad for the student, even if he’d been rude as hell. “That’s a pretty lousy apology, buddy.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The student withdrew a little, sheepishly offering an, ‘I’m sorry” to Ryan before quickly exiting stage right across the Quad. He was a little on the shorter side, even shorter than Ryan’s average height, and something told Ryan he would lose in a fight with the Big Guy’s nine foot tall self. Ryan looked in the direction the student had made his retreat, feeling as though maybe the person didn’t deserve to have the shit scared out of them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, that was pretty wicked, man. You scared the hell out of him!” Ryan slapped his friend’s chest and extracted himself from his side, shifting on his feet and grasping his own bag for support. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he caught Treadmill Guy’s face break out into a huge smile. He sported clear frame glasses, no bandanna, and an outfit completely different from his gym wear. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I had to step in. I had to come save my damsel in distress. What would you do if I wasn’t around to pick you up off treadmills and standoff with an idiot with a clipboard?” He offered, grinning as he praised himself and adjusting his glasses stupidly prettily. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Part of Ryan’s mouth felt dry, and he swallowed a dime size puff of nervous dust before he replied, “Fuck off, bro. I was doing totally fine by myself. It’s only because you’re so goddamn tall.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Big Guy rolled his eyes and started walking the direction Ryan had been, muttering, “I’m only six four.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With his back turned, Ryan took a better look at the large instrument strapped to him. The case was nondescript, plain black with white stitching on the edges. Ryan frowned, it needed stickers on it. He jogged to return to his friend’s side and asked, “Bro, you play guitar?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, this is my conga drum, </span>
  <em>
    <span>bro</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Did you get my text?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The ‘hey?’ I did, very great conversation starter, by the way. So enticing, much interesting.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“One, don’t use the doggo meme format when you talk to me, please. And two, no, you jackass, I asked you if you wanted to get lunch.” He smiled at Ryan’s caught off guard expression, his large hands still grasping the strap wrapped around his light gray shirt and brown jacket. He continued, “I thought we could hit up this Mexican restaurant, they have the cheapest burritos for like three dollars. They’re a steal, really.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A part of Ryan’s soul broke off inside him and floated to heaven upon hearing three dollar burritos. “Holy shit, man, yes. Let’s do that, I think I know what place you’re talking about.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They didn’t talk much on the walk to the burrito place, on account of it being only a few short blocks away. Ryan struggled to keep pace with the Big Guy, their habit of racing translating well past the doors of the gym. He watched his companion’s long stride, not limited by the short length of a treadmill belt. Despite the instrument on his back, he took large steps and Ryan couldn’t help but admire his lanky shape and how he carried himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Catching himself staring, Ryan forced himself forward as he often did around his friend and he was determined to avoid lingering glances until they reached the restaurant. As they entered the door, hand painted teal and cracked in multiple places, Ryan heard his stomach growl. The growl was louder than it had been at the Spectrum Center and even Big Guy noticed it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You got a demon in your tummy there, Ryan?” Treadmill Guy asked as they joined the line to the counter. His tone held a joking, fun quality and Ryan felt his smile despite himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off. Don’t say that word, it’s nothing to joke about.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tummy?” He echoed confused, his eyes still scanning the menu hanging over the counter. “Do you have, like, an intestinal issue or something? I’m sorry man, I had no idea it was a sensitive topic.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan huffed out a laugh before making his voice lower, drawing out his words. “No. Demons. I don’t even like saying it in case they hear. You don’t know what you invite saying it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Treadmill Guy stared back, his lips twitching a few times as he mulled over numerous responses. Ryan split his time between watching his puzzled expression, the wheels turning almost visible to everyone through his face, and the menu. He already knew what he would order, but dividing his attention gave an air of drama he couldn't resist. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His friend bit back whatever reply he’d decided upon while they ordered. Ryan smiled when the cashier recognized him, they chatted for a second and they slid him a free drink cup when he paid for his meal. He filled his cup while the Big Guy ordered. When they picked a table, one of those hard plastic booths near the ordering line, he turned a curious eye on Ryan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, so. Demons? And, you know the people here?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan picked at his cup, running the pad of his finger over the condensation on the outside, and swirling circles over the lid. “I come here a lot, it’s comforting. I’m half Mexican, it reminds me of my grandma’s food a little.” He flicked his gaze up at his friend and watched as he took off his case and set it between him and the wall. “And I already told you I don’t like you saying that word. You’re going to get in some stuff you really don’t want to.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Treadmill Guy all but rolled his eyes and said condescendingly, “I don’t believe in that shit. They can come rip my eyes out of my head, I don’t care. But they can’t and they won’t, because they don’t exist.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Take that back, they are real! There’s - there’s a fuckton of evidence out there supporting the existence of the paranormal!” Ryan argued, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing and when he flung his hand up to help his point, some of the water on the outside of the cup hit Treadmill Guy on his face. Ryan couldn’t even stop to apologize, he was just getting started. “Thousands, if not millions of people, have reported their own personal experiences with the paranormal, it’s impossible for that many people over a long period of time to just make all that up collectively.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Big Guy smiled and wiped the water off his cheek, not buying into any of it. He counted off his reasoning on long fingers as he said them. “Collective obsessional behavior, group hysteria, rumors, moral panics, punitive parenting methods, and CGI. Also, not to quote Past Ryan or anything, but fuck you. I can’t believe you believe in that stuff.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come on, man. That’s bullshit. Ghosts, demons, all of it. It’s real. Group hysteria doesn’t last through all of mankind’s history. Plus, there’s explicit recorded proof of the paranormal! There’s tons of videos, audio recordings, and photos on top of the testimonials.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ryan, I already said CGI! What are you, a religious studies major? Creative writing? Philosophy?” His voice became more exasperated the longer he spoke.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Screw you! I’m going to declare as a Health Sciences major, probably go into veterinary science.” Ryan laughed despite it all. If he thought racing this dude at the gym entertained him, he thought he could do this for a career. He could wipe that smug smile off his charming face, he’d show him some evidence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His companion merely scoffed, dismissive as hell. It pissed Ryan off, but thrilled him more than anything. This was new territory, an added layer to the razzing they’d been doing to each other. Ryan took a drink from his straw and waited for his rebuttal, but it didn’t come. Their order slid up onto the drop off counter, their numbers announced to the restaurant. It woke him up to their surroundings, and Ryan hoped they hadn’t gotten too loud. There weren’t many people in the seating area anyways, but still. He watched as the Big Guy stood up and grabbed both their trays. The smell of the food wafted into his face immediately when his friend set it down before him, and he nearly groaned in relief. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They stayed quiet while they unwrapped the foil around their (cheap!) burritos. Ryan dug in, tapping his foot and enjoying the atmosphere just as he had with Steven. The place never disappointed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So,” Treadmill Guy said around a bite. “You call yourself a man of science, yet you believe in </span>
  <em>
    <span>ghosts</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Are you like those girls from high school that go into nursing and then are anti-vaxxers on Facebook?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan choked a little on his food. “Um, no. Ghosts are real, you’re just being stubborn. I believe in science, and science is on my side in this case. What are you? A poli-sci major? Is that why you like to debate everything? A psych major?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d be offended if I hadn’t asked you if you were a philosophy major. I’m a history major, I’m focusing mainly on Europe during the Middle Ages right now.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m surprised you’re not into performing arts or something,” Ryan nodded towards the instrument and cleaned his hands with a napkin. “Why do you have an instrument then?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because I play guitar.” He said simply. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan nudged him under the table with his foot and flushed a little. “I mean, I know that. I assumed that. But, you don’t play with any groups or anything?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shrugged, “I’m in a band. We play random gigs around the city, I’m scouting a bar that has live music every weekend this Sunday. The people I live with, in my learning community and residency hall, we all are creative people. That’s the whole deal, to live there. We have to maintain some artistic project, and I’m not much of a painter, so I make music.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” Ryan perked up, swallowing before he finished. “I have a friend who lives there, she’s really good at drawing and sells prints online and stuff. It’s Anne Lewis Hall, right?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s the one.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, do you play covers only, or do you play your own stuff too?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Baby, I play all sorts of stuff,” Treadmill Guy winked and laughed, setting down what little was left of his burrito. Ryan heard himself laugh, high and delighted, as he ducked and hid his face a little. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Big Guy tapped his fingers on his case and watched Ryan’s cute, candy colored blush. “No, but seriously. We do both. Mainly indie covers, a few requests if we know it, and I throw in a couple of originals at the end if the crowd likes us.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course, you play guitar and like indie music,” Ryan mumbled to himself before he scooted out of his side of the booth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They picked up their mess, and Ryan observed his companion’s hands again as they grabbed his tray out of his grip. His hands, neat and strong, looked like a guitarist's hands. His nails weren’t very long, not like the rest of his fingers, but they were clean and filed. Ryan looked past them to the wide palms, simple watch on his wrist, and the covering of light brown hair leading into his sleeve. Looking away like he had been shocked, Ryan coughed. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever looked that closely at someone’s hands before. He wasn’t sure if he knew what that meant. He heard Curly’s voice in his ear, and he thought maybe Curly happened to be one of the things tugging at his brain. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can I take your picture?” Ryan blurted as they were walking out of the restaurant. He felt himself immediately turn red and an unpleasant, prickling sensation made its home on the back of his neck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um, what?” The Big Guy looked dumbfounded, and Ryan panicked a little. This was it, they went out to lunch, texted each other like once, and this was it. He beefed it, fuck. “I mean, the band I’m in is not that famous. Like at all. No one knows us, it’s just that participation is ten percent of my learning community course grade.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I meant. No, hold on.” Ryan reached out and touched his arm, where Big Guy had had it raised while he fiddled with his strap. Ryan felt himself freeze, his hand stuck where he maybe had unwisely set it. But his friend didn’t seem to mind, and so he pushed forward. “I mean. One of my friends wondered who you were, and wanted to see you? Sort of, it’s complicated, I didn’t mean to be creepy, I just. Do you have an Instagram or something?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Big Guy smiled, almost looking relieved that Ryan wasn’t actually a psychopath, and he laughed at Ryan’s making a fool of himself. “You talk to your friends about me? Ryan, I’m flattered, really. Touched you could say.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All the moisture in Ryan’s throat, mouth, entire cavity above his esophagus really, disappeared. But Ryan didn’t think he minded, not a ton at least. He couldn’t help but stare as Treadmill Guy’s smile softened and widened at once, suddenly breathtaking. His eyes squinted with how hard he smiled and made happy looking wrinkles despite his young age. Ryan made a note to add those to the casefile in his head, and he realized with a start he’d never moved his hands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Backing away, Ryan looked anywhere but at that damn smile, and shoved his hands in his pockets. “It was sort of an accident, but yeah. My friends know about you. I like running with you, and um, hanging out today has been really nice.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Treadmill Guy nodded, his smile close lipped now and less distracting. “I agree, I’d like to do it more. I mean, I have fun with you too. I don’t have an Instagram, by the way. But, you should bring your friends to one of my shows sometime, that way they can see for themselves.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Ryan breathed, relaxing. “Yeah, that’d be good. I, uh, I have to go, but I’ll see you around?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wouldn't miss it for the world, baby. Text if you want.” Big Guy pushed off his heels and grinned at Ryan as he walked backwards down the sidewalk. One quick turn and he was walking quickly down the pavement, across the crosswalk, and off to the rest of his day. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rest of Ryan’s day proved to be almost a complete blur, his overactive brain took a break apparently, because before he knew it, he found himself sitting at a table in the undergraduate library. Two textbooks, printed out copies of the notes Sara had so graciously sent him after her lecture, and a whole fuckton of highlighters and post-it notes laid before him. He’d grabbed an energy drink from a vending machine on his way over, which might have been a dangerous choice given his anxious tendencies. Thankfully, it kicked him into a caffeinated “hyper focused” mode as he called it, giving him a super concentrated stretch of about five hours of studying. He’d given his undivided attention to his man Keith Morrison and the worksheets Csankovszki had recommended they checked out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Part of him worried that once he broke the concentration, no matter how unhealthy it may have been, his brain would assault him with overanalyzing everything. He had so much to think about, so much on his plate. Perhaps he shouldn’t have sweated things as much as he did, but he couldn’t help it. He felt lost, like everyone around him had more pieces of the puzzle than he did, or at least they could look at the box and see the final picture the puzzle made. Ryan had to fill it out based on color, looking over every single thing’s edges to feel it out and discover where it fit in his life - or if it did at all. His friends knew themselves, knew their futures, and were comfortable with both. Ryan knew no more than his past, and even that remained elusive the longer he lived.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Groaning, Ryan rubbed his face. This was exactly what he meant, miss a single line of a Chemistry textbook and break the focus that had run on unbridled for hours. He checked the time on his phone and gasped, immediately shoveling his notes into his bag. Luckily, he’d chosen a seat on one of the upper floors, where no one but the people who studied for six hours straight ventured. He took the stairs and practically ran down them, the large steel doors at the bottom spitting him out onto the sidewalk of a city with a darkening sky behind it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bella’s class had dismissed ten minutes before, and Ryan felt his lungs and legs burn hot as he dashed across campus. The scene must have looked wild, his hair a disaster and clothes disheveled once he’d reached the spot they usually met up. He gulped in mouthfuls of air as fast as he could, bordering on hyperventilating, so he could be back to normal when Bella spotted him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She didn’t seem to care, laughing at him a little, his flushed cheeks and heaving breaths. Her lips were a sweet peach color that night, her kiss fruity and joyful on his scalded face. Bella kissed his temple and slid her fingers through his, gently swinging them. “So, Noodles and Company?” She asked with a smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nodded, grinning and sucking in a breath. “Hell yeah, babe. Sorry about missing you getting out of class, I was studying at the library.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They walked together, slower than Ryan had the entire day. He enjoyed it, the languid and unhurried pace. He asked Bella about her day, she’d had one lecture, one lab, and one minicourse that only met every other week. He listened, enraptured as she talked about the FaceTime she’d had with her younger sister, still in high school, and the constantly swelling amount of pride Bella held for her. Ryan nodded along, laughed at all her jokes, her habit of inserting puns where maybe they didn’t belong but delighted nonetheless. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before he knew it, they’d been sat, ordered their food, and held hands shyly like they’d just started dating. They laughed a ton over their meal, and she listened when he told her about Treadmill Guy, finally. A weight lifted off his shoulders when she told him, “It’s cool you have a friend to workout with. I like it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She laughed really hard when he told the story about the clipboard fiasco in the Quad, minus his being physically pulled from the grip of the student with the petition. “Well, maybe you should’ve just signed his petition, Ryan. What he had to say was definitely important enough to whack you with a clipboard.” She said sarcastically before taking a drink, shooting him a fun look with her eyebrows raised. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Feeling his own smile grow, Ryan knew he’d won that night. He knew what would happen after they wrapped up their dinner and paid. He knew they’d go back to his dorm, he’d thank Steven mentally for making himself scarce, and they wouldn’t watch the movie he’d queue up on his laptop. And, that was good, the way it should be. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they fell into the room together, stumbling despite their sobriety, merely drunk on their giddiness, Ryan knew he had been correct. Correct in choosing Bella, her kisses that calmed him and set him alight at the same time. Correct in choosing to slide down her body on his twin sized bed, and get closer to her than the edge. Correct in choosing to push in and feel her body react to his, to savor the way their moans mingled. It was right, her body and his together, and them being together.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <span>If anything, the sex vindicated him, and Ryan felt satisfied when they laid together. She sketched random patterns with her fingers on his chest, tucked cutely against his side. Watching the movements of her hand, Ryan noted how short her fingers were. They weren’t long, neat, or particularly slender. He frowned, that feeling of being </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure</span>
  </em>
  <span> fading a little. Right before he dozed off, he sleepily kissed Bella’s hair and pictured happy wrinkles in the corners of brown eyes.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you again for reading! I'm considering making some of my own fanart for this, I'll tell y'all when I do in a future author's note.</p><p>If any of you lovely artists or fandom peeps wanna hit me up, I'm @nukphoric on Insta and I do post my art there</p><p>Also musician!Shane is underrated and I am here to provide my self indulgent representation</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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